A storm water drain sits next to a major road but remains hidden by dozens of trees left to grow almost completely unhindered for decades. A tiny litter filled pool of stagnant water has collected under the protection of the trees above and the closest anyone would come to it is the foot path running alongside the road. Though, over the last eighteen hours, if a passer-by stopped and spent a moment looking through the dense trees and into the mosquito infested area they would have noticed something out of the ordinary. Something that has now drawn a team of police and paramedics. It took a wayward and disobedient dog on an early morning walk to draw his owner into the area when no amount of calling and tapping of knees would encourage the dog away from his find.
It's now over an hour since the body of a young boy was found by the walker and Detectives Earl and Carl are on site. They are covered on every side by a few dozen uniformed police who search the land around the scene for clues. Media got wind early on and a few channels have news vans already broadcasting live crosses by reporters.
The boy is tiny - maybe five or six. He lies face up, fully clothed but covered in a small amount of morning dew from the relatively cold night. Earl crouches over the boy and lifts the white sheet off his face, down to his hands. Carl comments that the boy looks like he’s been posed. Earl nods his head in agreement as he looks at the boy’s hands which have been unnaturally positioned so the palms face upward to reveal horrible burns.
Both experienced detectives remain respectfully silent, saying only what needs to be said. Years on the job have brought a healthy, albeit distasteful, humour to their crime scene attendance but some situations can go without the jokes.
Earl gently slides the boy’s shirt up to expose his stomach. The senior detectives are relieved to find nothing written into his skin. Earl places the shirt back down when he hears a familiar voice call to them from a short distance off, “Was there anything there?”
The detectives look over to see Max crouching under a tree branch as he shuffles in closer. Max's face is pale and the strain in his voice gives away that he knows a little bit about what's here. “Is there anything on his stomach?” Earl stands and blocks Max's view of the boy. “You can't be here,” he says with no small amount of contempt.
“I just need to know,” is Max's genuinely heartfelt and gentle reply.
Earl is furious, “How do you feel now? You play games with processes and now a boy is dead. Because of you. Because you didn't do your job.”